TEMPORARY INSANITY OF MR. TUPMAN. "Lord preserve us!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eying the extraordinary gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. "He's gone mad! What shall we do ?" "Do!" said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words of the sentence. "Put the horse in the gig! I'll get a chaise at the Lion, and follow 'em instantly. Where"-he exclaimed, as the man ran out to execute the commission- "where's that villain, Joe?" "Here I am; but I han't a willin," replied a voice. It was the fat boy's. "Let me get at him, Pickwick," cried Wardle, as he rushed at the ill-starred youth. "He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to put me on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-a-bull story of my sister and 57 leased his hold, than the man entered to announce that the gig was ready. "Don't let him go alone!" screamed the females. "He'll kill somebody!" "I'll go with him," said Mr. Pickwick. 66 "You're a good fellow, Pickwick," said the host, grasping his hand. Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck-make haste. Look after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted away. Now then, are you ready?" Mr. Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped in a large shawl: his hat having been put on his head, and his great-coat thrown over his arm, he replied in the affirmative. They jumped into the gig. "Give her her head, Tom," cried the host; and away they went, down your friend Tupman!" (Here Mr. Tupman sunk into a chair.) "Let me get at him!" "Don't let him!" screamed all the women, above whose exclamations the blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible. "I won't be held!" cried the old man. "Mr. Winkle, take your hands off. Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!" It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion, to behold the placid and philosophical expression of Mr. Pickwick's face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he stood with his arms firmly clasped round the extensive waist of their corpulent host, thus restraining the impetuosity of his passion, while the fat boy was scratched, and pulled, and pushed from the room by all the females congregated therein. He had no sooner re MR. PIOKWICK, LET ME GO, SIR!" the narrow lanes; jolting in and out of the cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on either side, as if they would go to pieces every moment. "How much are they ahead?" shouted Wardle, as they drove up to the door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd had collected, late as it was. "Not above three-quarters of an hour," was every body's reply. "Chaise-and-four directly!-out with 'em! Put up the gig afterward." 66 Now, boys!" cried the landlord-"chaise-andfour out-make haste-look alive there!" Away ran the hostlers, and the boys. The lanterns glimmered, as the men ran to and fro; the horses' hoofs clattered on the uneven paving of the yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out of the coach-house; and all was noise and bustle. "Now then!-is that chaise coming out to-night?" cried Wardle. "Coming down the yard now, sir," replied the hostler. Out came the chaise-in went the horses-on sprung the boys-in got the travelers. "Mind-the seven-mile stage in less than half an hour!" shouted Wardle. "Off with you!" The boys applied whip and spur, the waiters shouted, the hostlers cheered, and away they went, fast and furiously. "Pretty situation," thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a moment's time for reflection. "Pretty situation for the General Chairman of the Pickwick Club. Damp chaise-strange horses-fifteen miles an hour-and twelve o'clock at night!" For the first three or four miles, not a word was spoken by either of the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his own reflections to address any observations to his companion. When they had gone over that much ground, however, and the horses getting thoroughly warmed began to do their work in really good style, Mr. Pickwick became too much exhilarated with the rapidity of the motion, to remain any longer perfectly mute. "We're sure to catch them, I think," said he. "Hope so," replied his companion. "Fine night," said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, which was shining brightly. "So much the worse," returned Wardle; "for they'll have had all the advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shall lose it. It will have gone down in another hour." "It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark, won't it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. "I dare say it will,” replied his friend dryly. Mr. Pickwick's temporary excitement began to sober down a little, as he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of the expedition in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He was roused by a loud shouting of the post-boy on the leader. "Yo-yo-yo-yo-yoe," went the first boy. "Yo-yo-yo-yoe! !" went the second. "Yo-yo-yo-yoe!" chimed in old Wardle himself, most lustily, with his head and half his body out of the coach window. "Yo-yo-yo-yoe!" shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the burden of the cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its meaning or object. And amidst the yo-yoing of the whole four, the chaise stopped. "What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Pickwick. "There's a gate here," replied old Wardle. "We shall hear something of the fugitives." After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking and shouting, an old man in his shirt and trowsers emerged from the turnpike-house, and opened the gate. "Oh yes, there's been a shay by." "How long ago, my friend," interposed Mr. Pickwick; an hour?" 66 66 Ah, I dare say it might be," replied the man. "Or two hours?" inquired the post-boy on the wheeler. "Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was," returned the old man doubtfully. "Drive on, boys," cried the testy old gentleman: "don't waste any more time with that old idiot!" "Idiot!" exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the middle of the road with the gate half closed, watching the chaise which rapidly diminished in the increasing distance. "No-not much o' that either; you've lost ten minutes here, and gone away as wise as you came, arter all. If every man on the line as has a guinea give him, earns it half as well, you won't catch t'other shay this side Mich'lmas, old short-and-fat." And with another prolonged grin, the old man closed the gate, re-entered his house, and bolted the door after him. Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening of pace, toward the conclusion of the stage. The moon, as Wardle had foretold, was rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark heavy clouds, which had been gradually overspreading the sky for some time past, now formed one black mass overhead; and large drops of rain which pattered every now and then against the windows of the chaise, seemed to warn the travelers of the rapid approach of a stormy night. The wind, too, which was directly against them, swept in furious gusts down the narrow road, and howled dismally through the trees which skirted the pathway. Mr. Pickwick drew his coat closer about him, coiled himself more snugly up into the corner of the chaise, and fell into a sound sleep, from which he was only awakened by the stopping of the vehicle, the sound of the hostler's bell, and a loud cry of "Horses on directly!" But here another delay occurred. The boys were sleeping with such mysterious soundness, that it took five minutes apiece to wake them. The hostler had somehow or other mislaid the key of the stable, and even when that was found, two sleepy helpers put the wrong harness on the wrong horses, and the whole process of harnessing had to be gone through afresh. Had Mr. Pickwick been alone, these multiplied obstacles would have completely put an end to the pursuit at once, but old Wardle was not to be so easily daunted; and he laid about him with such hearty good-will, cuffing this man, and pushing that; strapping a buckle here, and taking in a link there, that the chaise was ready in a much shorter time than could reasonably have been expected, under so many difficulties. They resumed their journey; and certainly the prospect before them was by no means encouraging. The stage was fifteen miles long, the night was dark, "How long is it since a post-chaise went through the wind high, and the rain pouring in torrents. It here?" inquired Mr. Wardle. "How long?" "Ah?" "Why, I don't rightly khow. It worn't a long time ago, nor it worn't a short time ago, just between the two, perhaps." "Has any chaise been by at all?" was impossible to make any great way against such obstacles united; it was hard upon one o'clock already; and nearly two hours were consumed in getting to the end of the stage. Here, however, an object presented itself, which rekindled their hopes, and reanimated their drooping spirits. "When did this chaise come in?" cried old War REALLY MOVING NOW. s own vehicle, and pointing to t mud, which was standing in an hour ago, sir,” replied the question was addressed. man?" inquired Wardle, almost ience. 59 utmost speed; and those in Mr. Wardle's galloped furiously behind them. "I see his head," exclaimed the choleric old man. "Damme, I see his head." "So do I," said Mr. Pickwick, "that's he." Mr. Pickwick was not mistaken. The countenance of Mr. Jingle, completely coated with the mud thrown up by the wheels, was plainly discernible at -dress-coat-long legs-thin the window of his chaise; and the motion of his n face-rather skinny-eh ?" arm, which he was waving violently toward the postilions, denoted that he was encouraging them to increased exertion. The interest was intense. Fields, trees, and e couple, Pickwick!" exclaimed hedges, seemed to rush past them with the velocity of a whirlwind, so rapid was the pace at which they here before," said the hostler, tore along. They were close by the side of the first ce." ,"it is, by Jove! Chaise-andshall catch them yet, before age. A guinea apiece, boys about-there's good fellows." onitions as these, the old genvn the yard, and bustled to and ement which communicated italso; and under the influence man got himself into compliwith harness, and mixed up ls of chaises, in the most surbelieving that by so doing he ding the preparations for their ?" cried old Wardle, climbing g up the steps, and slamming 'Come along! Make haste!" vick knew precisely what he self forced in at the other door, old gentleman, and one push off they were again. now," said the old gentleman re indeed, as was sufficiently ck, by his constant collisions ood-work of the chaise, or the = stout old Mr. Wardle, as Mr. foremost into his capacious ch a jolting in my life," said ied his companion, "it will steady." -d himself into his own cord; and on whirled the chaise n this way about three miles, had been looking out of the ee minutes, suddenly drew in splashes, and exclaimed in his head out of his window. se-and-four, a short distance ong at full gallop. chaise. Jingle's voice could be plainly heard, even above the din of the wheels, urging on the boys. Old Mr. Wardle foamed with rage and excitement. He roared out scoundrels and villains by the dozen, clenched his fist and shook it expressively at the object of his indignation; but Mr. Jingle only answered with a contemptuous smile, and replied to his menaces by a shout of triumph, as his horses, answering the increased application of whip and spur, broke into a faster gallop, and left the pursuers behind. Mr. Pickwick had just drawn in his head, and Mr. Wardle, exhausted with shouting, had done the same, when a tremendous jolt threw them forward against the front of the vehicle. There was a sudden bump-a loud crash-away rolled a wheel, and over went the chaise. After a very few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, in which nothing but the plunging of horses, and breaking of glass, could be made out, Mr. Pickwick felt himself violently pulled out from among the ruins of the chaise; and as soon as he had gained his feet, and extricated his head from the skirts of his great-coat, which materially impeded the usefulness of his spectacles, the full disaster of the case met his view. Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several places, stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay scattered at their feet. The post-boys, who had succeeded in cutting the traces, were standing, disfigured with mud and disordered by hard riding, by the horses' heads. About a hundred yards in advance was the other chaise, which had pulled up on hearing the crash. The postilions, each with a broad grin convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse party from their saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck from the coach window with evident satisfaction. The day was just breaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly visible by the gray light of the morning. "Halloo!" shouted the shameless Jingle, "any body damaged? - elderly gentlemen -no lightweights-dangerous work-very." "You're a rascal!" roared Wardle. "Ha! ha!" replied Jingle; and then he added, with a knowing wink, and a jerk of the thumb to The postilions resumed their proper attitudes, and away rattled the chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a white handkerchief from the coach-window. merable veracious legends connected with old London Bridge, and its adjacent neighborhood on the Surrey side. It was in the yard of one of these inns-of no less celebrated an one than the White Hart-that a man was busily employed in brushing the dirt off a pair of boots, early on the morning succeeding the events narrated in the last chapter. He was habited in a coarse-striped waistcoat, with black calico sleeves, and blue glass buttons; drab breeches and leg Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had disturbed the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick's temper. The villainy, however, which could first borrow money of his faithful follower, and then abbreviate his name to "Tuppy," was more than he could patiently bear. He drew his breath hard, and colored up to the very tips of his spectacles, as he said, slowly and emphatically-gins. A bright red handkerchief was wound in a "If ever I meet that man again, I'll—” "Yes, yes," interrupted Wardle, "that's all very well; but while we stand talking here, they'll get their license, and be married in London." Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked it down. "How far is it to the next stage?" inquired Mr. Wardle, of one of the boys. แ "Six mile, an't it, Tom?" "Rayther better." Rayther better nor six mile, sir." "Can't be helped," said Wardle, "we must walk it, Pickwick." "No help for it," replied that truly great man. So sending forward one of the boys on horseback, to procure a fresh chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to take care of the broken one, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set manfully forward on the walk, first tying their shawls round their necks, and slouching down their hats to escape as much as possible from the deluge of rain, which after a slight cessation had again begun to pour heavily down. CHAPTER X. CLEARING UP ALL DOUBTS (IF ANY EXISTED) OF THE DISINTERESTEDNESS OF MR. JINGLE'S CHARACTER. HERE are in London several old inns, once the T head-quarters of celebrated coaches when coaches performed their journeys in a graver and more solemn manner than they do in these times; but which have now degenerated into little more than the abiding and booking places of country wagons. The reader would look in vain for any of these ancient hostelries, among the Golden Crosses and Bull and Mouths, which rear their stately fronts in the improved streets of London. If he would light upon any of these old places, he must direct his steps to the obscurer quarters of the town; and there in some secluded nooks he will find several, still standing with a kind of gloomy sturdiness, amidst the modern innovations which surround them. In the Borough especially, there still remain some half-dozen old inns, which have preserved their external features unchanged, and which have escaped alike the rage for public improvement, and the encroachments of private speculation. Great, rambling, queer, old places they are, with galleries, and passages, and staircases, wide enough and antiquated enough to furnish materials for a hundred ghost stories, supposing we should ever be reduced to the lamentable necessity of inventing any, and that the world should exist long enough to exhaust the innu very loose and unstudied style round his neck, and an old white hat was carelessly thrown on one side of his head. There were two rows of boots before him, one cleaned and the other dirty, and at every addition he made to the clean row, he paused from his work, and contemplated its results with evident satisfaction. The yard presented none of that bustle and activity which are the usual characteristics of a large coach inn. Three or four lumbering wagons, each with a pile of goods beneath its ample canopy, about the height of the second-floor window of an ordinary house, were stowed away beneath a lofty roof which extended over one end of the yard; and another, which was probably to commence its journey that morning, was drawn out into the open space. A double tier of bedroom galleries, with old clumsy balustrades, ran round two sides of the straggling area, and a double row of bells to correspond, sheltered from the weather by a little sloping roof, hung over the door leading to the bar and coffee-room. Two or three gigs and chaise-carts were wheeled up under different little sheds and pent-houses; and the occasional heavy tread of a cart-horse, or rattling of a chain at the farther end of the yard, announced to any body who cared about the matter, that the stable lay in that direction. When we add that a few boys in smock-frocks were lying asleep on heavy packages, wool-packs, and other articles that were scattered about on heaps of straw, we have described as fully as need be the general appearance of the yard of the White Hart Inn, High Street, Borough, on the particular morning in question. A loud ringing of one of the bells, was followed by the appearance of a smart chamber-maid in the upper sleeping-gallery, who, after tapping at one of the doors, and receiving a request from within, called over the balustrades"Sam !" 66 Halloo," replied the man with the white hat. "Number twenty-two wants his boots." "Ask number twenty-two, wether he'll have 'em now, or wait till he gets 'em," was the reply. 66 Come, don't be a fool, Sam," said the girl, coaxingly, "the gentleman wants his boots directly." "Well, you are a nice young 'ooman for a musical party, you are," said the boot-cleaner. "Look at these here boots-eleven pair o' boots; and one shoe as b'longs to number six, with the wooden leg. The eleven boots is to be called at half-past eight and the shoe at nine. Who's number twenty-two, that's to put all the others out? No, no; reg'lar rotation, as Jack Ketch said, wen he tied the men up. Sorry to keep you a-waitin', sir, but I'll attend to you directly." MR. SAMUEL WELLER RELATES AN ANECDOTE. Saying which, the man in the white hat set to work upon a top-boot with increased assiduity. There was another loud ring; and the bustling old landlady of the White Hart made her appearance in the opposite gallery. 66 Sam," " cried the landlady, "where's that lazy, idle—why, Sam-oh, there you are; why don't you answer?" "Wouldn't be gen-teel to answer, 'til you'd done talking," replied Sam, gruffly. "Here, clean them shoes for number seventeen directly, and take 'em to private sitting-room, number five, first-floor." The landlady flung a pair of lady's shoes into the yard, and bustled away. "Number 5," said Sam, as he picked up the shoes, and taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, made a memorandum of their destination on the soles"Lady's shoes and private sittin'-room! I suppose she didn't come in the waggin." "She came in early this morning," cried the girl, who was still leaning over the railing of the gallery, "with a gentleman in a hackney-coach, and it's him as wants his boots, and you'd better do 'em, that's all about it." "Vy didn't you say so before," said Sam, with great indignation, singling out the boots in question from the heap before him. "For all I know'd he vas one o' the regular three-pennies. Private room! and a lady too! If he's any thing of a gen'Im'n, he's worth a shillin' a day, let alone the arrands." Stimulated by this inspiring reflection, Mr. Samuel brushed away with such hearty good-will, that in a few minutes the boots and shoes, with a polish which would have struck envy to the soul of the amiable Mr. Warren (for they used Day and Martin at the White Hart), had arrived at the door of number five. "Come in," said a man's voice, in reply to Sam's rap at the door. Sam made his best bow, and stepped into the presence of a lady and gentleman seated at breakfast. Having officiously deposited the gentleman's boots right and left at his feet, and the lady's shoes right and left at hers, he backed toward the door. "Boots," said the gentleman. "Sir," said Sam, closing the door, and keeping his hand on the knob of the lock. "Do you know-what's-a-name-Doctors' Commons?" "Yes, sir." "Where is it?" "Paul's Church-yard, sir; low archway on the carriage-side, bookseller's at one corner, hot-el on the other, and two porters in the middle as touts for licenses." "Touts for licenses !" said the gentleman. "Touts for licenses," replied Sam. "Two coves in vhite aprons-touches their hats wen you walk in-License, sir, license?' Queer sort, them, and their mas❜rs too, sir- Old Bailey Proctors-and no mistake." "What do they do?" inquired the gentleman. "Do! You, sir! That an't the wost on it, neither. They puts things into old gen'lm'n's heads as 61 they never dreamed of. My father, sir, wos a coachman. A widower he wos, and fat enough for any thing-uncommon fat, to be sure. His missus dies, and leaves him four hundred pound. Down he goes to the Commons, to see the lawyer and draw the blunt-wery smart-top-boots on-nosegay in his button-hole-broad-brimmed tile-green shawl — quite the gen❜lm'n. Goes through the archway, thinking how he should inwest the money - up comes the touter, touches his hat-License, sir, license?'-'What's that?' says my father.-'License, sir,' says he.-'What license?' says my father.-' Marriage license,' says the touter.-'Dash my veskit,' says my father, 'I never thought o' that.'-'I think you wants one, sir,' says the touter. My father pulls up, and thinks abit-'No,' says he, 'damme, I'm too old, b'sides I'm a many sizes too large,' says he.-'Not a bit on it, sir,' says the touter.-"Think not?' says my father. 'I'm sure not,' says he; 'we married a gem'lm'n twice your size, last Monday.'-'Did you, though,' said my father. To be sure, we did,' says the touter, 'you're a babby to him-this way, sir— this way!-and sure enough my father walks arter him, like a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back office, vere a feller sat among dirty papers and tin boxes, making believe he was busy. 'Pray take a seat, vile I makes out the affidavit, sir,' says the lawyer. Thankee, sir,' says my father, and down he sat, and stared with all his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes. 'What's your name, sir,' says the lawyer.-'Tony Weller,' says my father.-'Parish?' says the lawyer. -'Belle Savage,' says my father; for he stopped there wen he drove up, and he know'd nothing about parishes, he didn't.-'And what's the lady's name?' says the lawyer. My father was struck all of a heap. 'Blessed if I know,' says he.-'Not know!' says the lawyer.-'No more nor you do,' says my father; 'can't I put that in arterward ?'—' Impossible!' says the lawyer. Wery well,' says my father, after he'd thought a moment, 'put down Mrs. Clarke.'— 'What Clarke?' says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the ink. Susan Clarke, Markis o' Granby, Dorking,' says my father; 'she'll have me, if I ask, I des-sayI never said nothing to her, but she'll have me, I know.' The license was made out, and she did have him, and what's more she's got him now; and I never had any of the four hundred pound, worse luck. Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam, when he had concluded, "but wen I gets on this here grievance, I runs on like a new barrow with the vheel greased." Having said which, and having paused for an instant to see whether he was wanted for any thing more, Sam left the room. "Half-past nine-just the time-off at once," said the gentleman, whom we need hardly introduce as Mr. Jingle. "Time-for what?" said the spinster aunt, coquettishly. "License, dearest of angels-give notice at the church-call you mine, to-morrow"-said Mr. Jingle, and he squeezed the spinster aunt's hand. "The license!" said Rachael, blushing. "The license," repeated Mr. Jingle "In hurry, post-haste for a license, |